


i could try to run

by ThisJoyAndI



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 2x08, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 15:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13321413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisJoyAndI/pseuds/ThisJoyAndI
Summary: (but it would be useless)'The skirt, the jacket, it is all a façade. A costume. She isn’t the fearless girl she used to be.'





	i could try to run

**Author's Note:**

> And so, the trend of titling my Alice/FP fics after Camila Cabello songs continues...
> 
> Also - first fic of 2018!

“Alice.” FP’s dark eyes look at her, unblinking. It is a highly unusual feeling, one she hasn’t felt in years, but Alice cannot deny that she feels incredibly self-conscious under FP’s gaze, fully aware that her top is somewhat see-through and her body, although subjected to Pilates daily, isn’t that of the sixteen year old River Vixen she used to be. She’s had three children, and each of them have left their mark on her body – just like the men who fathered them.

She didn’t tell Hal where they were going, not exactly. All her husband knows is the information the note placed carefully on the island bench tells him _– Taking Betty out for dinner. There’s leftovers in the fridge. Should be home before late. – A._ FP had told her to leave him at home, and she had. Hal had never understood this part of her, had never really wanted to, and as soon as her last name changed from Smith to Cooper (“Alice Cooper?” FP had teased her, smirking despite the cigarette wedged between his lips. “Really, Ali?”), she vowed that she’d forget about her past as easily as Hal proved to forget about his heartfelt promise to cook dinner twice a week.

How many times had FP told her to leave Hal? Begged her to leave him – the suggestion that she should be with him instead always unspoken but still present nonetheless. She lost count, in the end. She’d married Hal, like she thought was right, and FP had joined the army. And hadn’t she been an utter fool, hurrying over to the trailer park as soon as Fred saw fit to inform her of FP’s idiotic plans, only to discover his trailer devoid of any traces of him, an empty glass in the sink. By the time his deployment was over Polly had been five months old, a beautiful, happy baby, and her position as Alice Cooper, co-owner of the Riverdale Register, had been cemented by the baby Hal had allowed her to keep. Polly made her a Cooper, more so than her wedding band did, and because of that the Northside was where she belonged, no matter how much she longed to go to FP’s trailer once more and make sure the army hadn’t irrevocably altered him. 

“You came,” FP murmurs, his voice quiet against the noise.

“Well, you did invite me,” Alice quips, cursing herself for discarding her leather jacket so quickly upon arrival. It isn’t her Serpent jacket, for that is safely tucked away in the attic, but it is the jacket she wore right before her initiation, and when she slipped it on she felt as though she was that young girl again, stomach recoiling with nerves before FP slipped her a glass of something which definitely wasn’t water. She isn’t cold, the shots of tequila have seen to that, but she is in dire need of covering up, judging from FP’s lingering gaze. How many times had he looked at her like that, at how many different parties, a red cup in his hands and his letterman jacket dangling from his shoulders. The leather skirt is tight around her thighs, a constriction she more than welcomes. She does wonder however, how she ever managed to ride a motorcycle in such attire. “And it wouldn’t be polite to refuse an invitation personally given by FP Jones himself.”

At this, FP merely nods, the echo of a smirk lingering on his lips. A moment passes by in silence, and then another, before he queries, “Where’s Hal?”

“I left him,” she replies, pausing for a moment before adding, reminding them both of FP’s own words, “At home. Like you said.”

FP nods again, intertwining his hands together. He is without a glass of any kind, and the sight unnerves her somewhat, for it means his earlier promise to stay sober wasn’t just words. She has tried for years to convince herself that FP Jones would say anything to achieve what he desires, but she is unsure of what exactly his aim might be in this instance. Does he want Gladys and Jellybean back? The spiteful part of her has always thought they never worked well together – FP merely using Gladys to fill the hole in his life, just as she herself could be considered as using Hal. The only difference between them is that Gladys left, whilst Hal is steadfast in his belief that she loves him. No matter how aloof she is towards him, no matter how sparse in her affection she might be, her husband is convinced that she loves him. But if her experiences with both of her daughters is anything to judge by, Alice isn’t sure she knows how to love someone.

Did she even love FP? If she had loved him, why did she leave him? Why did she discard him, when he would’ve given her the world – one limited to the Southside, but a world nonetheless. She’d chosen Hal over him, and a part of her does wonder what her life would have been like if she hadn’t been so damned practical.

She wants to ask FP – why did you tell me to leave him at home? Alice wants to hear the confession spill out of FP’s mouth, wants to see if they match what she has imagined. She wants to ask him everything, but she swallows the words instead. The skirt, the jacket, it is all a façade. A costume. She isn’t the fearless girl she used to be, the one who confessed to the Sheriff because she was still a minor and FP wasn’t. It seems she can only be fearless within the pages of the Register these days, or towards her own family.

Before she can ever think to summon up the courage that surely must still dwell somewhere deep inside, events occurring on the makeshift stage draw both of their attention, FP’s brow quirking in slight confusion. She vaguely remembers seeing Archie and Veronica step onto the stage moments earlier, but now, as she pushes her way through the crowd without apologising, it is Betty that she sees on the stage. She blinks, and it is herself she sees on the stage, discarding her leather jacket, shaking her hair over her shoulders. It had only been by maintaining eye contact with FP that she had managed to get through the ridiculous ritual without verbalising her true thoughts about such an archaic concept, FP’s eyes never straying from her own. And now, it is at Jughead that her daughter looks as she pops open the buttons on her blouse.

Alice cannot help the “oh my god” that escapes her lips as she realises exactly what Betty is doing – what her daughter is participating in. She wants nothing more than to drag her daughter down from the stage, but she seemingly cannot move, shock rendering her motionless. She wants to pluck out the eyes of every man staring at her daughter, many of them having stared at her, but her body refuses to move. In the end FP does what she cannot, covering Betty with his own leather jacket and drawing the attention of the crowd back to him, not her underage daughter.

She makes a mental note to find him later and thank him, but that is before his speech, before his rousing words about family. In an instant, she knows exactly where this speech is headed, exactly what FP intends to do. It might be to protect Jughead, it might be to protect the Southside itself. FP might have the purest of intentions, but soon enough, he’ll be drunk and belligerent, and the leader of the Serpents once more.

Betty refuses to leave but Alice still exits the White Wyrm without a backward glance, stomach recoiling. She shouldn’t have come. Like always, when it comes to FP Jones, she really should have known better.

**Author's Note:**

> FP's teasing of 'Alice Cooper' is 100% inspired by bewareoftrips' 'Better Things' fic, which is INCREDIBLE.


End file.
